


Death Is Riding Into Town With Armor

by OrianDCate



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Basically Slow Everything, Character Death, F/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Morally Grey Loki, Of Loki, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Slow To Update, What Was I Thinking?, What-If, for the greater good, that is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29049909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrianDCate/pseuds/OrianDCate
Summary: Coulson makes a different call. The mighty Thor is felled by a single arrow. And the weir of the world is changed. Only time will tell if Thor's death altered the Fates for the better...or for worse.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Jane Foster/Loki, Steve Rogers/Sif
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Death Is Riding Into Town With Armor

Disclaimer: The Greenville Trestle now don’t seem so high.

* * *

_“Let the water flow with shades of red now;_

_Arrows black out all the light._

_Death is riding into town with armor;_

_They've come to grant you your rights!_

_Hail to the King!”_

_\- Avenged Sevenfold, “Hail to the King”_

1) THE GREATEST TRICK THE DEVIL EVER PULLED

He was seriously beginning to regret not taking the rifle.

Keeping a bowstring taut was hard on the fingers under the best of circumstances; under the worst storm New Mexico had seen in centuries? It was almost impossible.

Well, impossible for anyone who wasn’t Clint Barton.

“Better call it, Coulson. Cause I’m startin’ to root for this guy.”

The man (if he was even a man at all) stumbled forward. The plastic walls offered him just as much resistance as the guards had: namely, none. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Coulson take a step forward. Presumably to get a better view of the situation.

Hopefully he’d seen enough. “Last chance sir.”

A pause.

“…Take the shot.”

The arrow flew from his bow, straight and true.

And then twisted in the path of an air current that most definitely _should not have been there._

Onwards it went, spiraling in a grim parody of its intended path…right up until it impacted the man from behind.

Three inches up from where he’d been aiming.

It could’ve been worse, he mused. He could’ve missed the man entirely by three inches to the left. Knee shots were tricky to begin with; it was just bad luck he managed to hit the femoral artery instead. Or at least, he assumed it was the femoral artery. That much blood didn’t typically spurt from a flesh wound.

The man crumpled to the ground with a roar of pain audible even through the downpour. Barton could only watch as the sap then did the absolute stupidest thing possible…and pulled the arrow out.

Yep, no doubt about it. Definitely the femoral artery.

Still the man pushed on. Inch by inch, his blood draining from his body, he crawled ever closer to his goal. His fingers reached up, gently brushed the leather-wrapped handle…

And then slid off into the mud.

Barton very slowly relaxed his stance. “…Hostile down.”

Now all they could do was pray there weren’t more where he came from.

Cause if there were, they were gonna be _pissed._

Come to think of, so was Fury.

Never mind; more muscle men seemed like an excellent idea. He would take a hundred dudes like that over Fury mad any day of the week. Unfortunately, it seemed his prayers had been answered. Because not one more muscle man made their presence known; from the time he gave his report to Coulson, right up until he boarded the plane for New York.

He was dead. So very, very dead.

* * *

Loki didn’t hate the Warriors Three; not really. He could hardly blame them for the environment in which they were raised; for the way of life that was all they knew. And when it came down to it, there were none others he’d rather have behind him in a fight to the death.

Sif, however…Sif, he could afford to hate.

She had been his playmate, once. Back when they were both young and in love with the world; with the way _seidhr_ tingled and danced beneath their skin. They had learned together at Frigga’s lap, fascinated by the intricate designs his mother made dance in the air. To copy those designs, and make them even more spectacular had been their only goal.

And then Sif had noticed Thor.

Day by day, she grew less and less interested in matters of _seidhr,_ and all too interested in the more accepted methods of battle. Their shared love of magic withered and died with every hack Sif made at the training poles.

He should have seen it coming; there was none closer to Thor than him. Who else would Sif attempt to replace?

He and Thor had always been evenly matched in battle; Thor could not break through his _seidhr,_ and he could not match Thor’s resilience, stamina, or strength. Their sparring matches always seemed to end in a draw; Mjolnir pinning him to the ground, and his dagger a hair’s breadth away from something vital of Thor’s. Right up until the day Sif challenged him instead.

She had beaten him; cleanly, viciously. She knew his _seidhr_ inside and out, and while she may have been nowhere near Thor’s level, she had an advantage the Crown Prince did not: she could match Loki in _speed._

And that was that. Sif joined the Warriors Three, and Loki was relegated ever further to the background. On the day he lost his first fight to Thor in centuries, thanks to Sif’s coaching, he faded into it entirely.

But that was then. This was now. And Loki, the God of Chaos and Mischief, was standing on center stage once more.

The Warriors Three would obey; of course they would. He was ruler now, and his word was law. And for anyone to go against the word of the All-Mother was an infinitely worse offense than to do the same to the All-Father. In his eyes, at least.

Maybe Sif would disobey…it was entirely within the realm of possibility. Their shared love of magic had become…not a shared hatred, exactly. He was quite sure that was entirely on his part and his alone. It was more of a rivalry, than anything else. And Sif had always delighted in bending his own rules and examples back against him.

 _And_ she was still beloved by Frigga. If anyone could get away with it, she could.

No matter; he would deal with any potential nuisances when he returned. His _seidhr_ flared outward, cloaking him an illusion designed to blend into Midgard. After examining the resulting ensemble, he was forced to admit that perhaps the humans were far more advanced in the matter of clothing than most Asgardians. At least in the area of practicality. Inconspicuous or comfortable, Asgardian robes were not.

The location spell slid into alignment with the one for transport, and he flashed away.

Hmm…he smelled medicinal supplies. Apparently, Thor was in the Halls of Healing. Again. _What a surprise._ Now, time to find out just what the oaf had managed to destroy in his brief time on Midgard, and then mitigate the damage already done.

He strode down the corridor, passing…no one on his way. Odd; every place of healing Loki had ever visited was invariably filled with the cries and moans of the sick and the clipped tones and whispers of the staff. Then again, most of those occasions had been on the eve after a battle, and there had definitely been more people in need of treatment than normal. Perhaps this was what Halls of Healing looked like on a more… _regular_ basis. He shrugged off his concern, and continued on.

Three doors he walked past; then four, five, six…a twinge from his _seidhr._

He double-checked the location spell. No doubt about it; he’d passed Thor’s residence. But that made no sense; the only doors behind him were all marked…

Oh.

Oh Odin, please, _no. Not that._

The offending engravings stayed exactly where they were.

CORONER.

MORGUE.

And lastly…

CREMATORIUM.

_Norns help me._

He allowed himself a slight relaxation as the…the crematorium yielded negative results. Everything was fine; he was sure of it. Thor was probably just claiming the possessions of his latest vic…opponents. There had to be a perfectly good reason the spell was quite clearly leading him to the morgue.

Didn’t there?

Swallowing, he swung the forbidding door open to reveal…an empty room. No occupants whatsoever.

And yet Thor was here.

He _had_ to be.

There…a table. Atop it, a sheet. And beneath the sheet…

A shape.

The white material yielded smoothly to his grasp, pulling back slowly, oh so slowly…

But not slowly enough.

* * *

He started with the coroner’s office.

He wasn’t bothering to hide now; he wanted them to see. See, and know there was absolutely nothing they could do to avert their coming fate. His rage was practically visible in the air, his _seidhr_ sparking and spitting every step of the way.

The coroner had been weak; his heart had given out before Loki had gotten everything he wanted from his mind. Luckily, there were plenty more where he came from.

And they were all with a group known as SHIELD.

They had beaten the hammer from above.

They would not fare so well against the dagger from below.

* * *

They found her hours later.

“Jane?” Darcy’s voice. “JANE! Oh my god, oh my god. Where the _hell_ have you been!”

She wanted to get up; to get up and run. Run from Darcy, from Eric, from Puente Antiguo…

But she found she couldn’t. And so she stayed just where she was: hugging her knees to her chest, covered in mud and…and…and…

Damn. The tears were back.

Erik knelt down. “Jane? Jane, are you okay?”

A single word escaped her lips. “No.”

Erik slowly nodded. “Right. If…if we ask what happened, will…will it make things worse?”

A half-laugh, half-sob hiccupped it’s way out. “No. No; there’s…I’m sorry, it’s just…I don’t think there’s anyway it _can_ get worse.”

Darcy raised her hand to her face to block the glare. “I don’t see blondie; did you ditch him? Or vice versa?”

“Darcy!” Erik snapped.

“What? I’m just asking; and my Taser’s still hungry for man-flesh.”

She snorted. And then hiccupped again.

And then sobbed.

An eternity later, Erik miraculously produced an all-white handkerchief and handed it over. “That bad, then.”

She nodded numbly.

The older man sank to the ground next to her with a groan. “Now…tell me.”

It all came pouring out. Magic, science, Thor, the complex…the fight.

“It was an arrow. An _arrow_ , of all things. And he just…” Her arm collapsed in demonstration of the event. “…yeah.”

“And?”

She looked at him. “And? What’s ‘and?’”

“Don’t, Janey. I know what a femoral bleed looks like…and I know that even if you hugged the man, the blood wouldn’t have ended up in your hair. What happened after.”

She took a deep breath. “I was…waiting. Here; for you and Darcy. They took his body away; a coroner’s van. Some more cars went with it. And then…the screaming. Even when Thor was doing what he was doing, they weren’t _screaming._ All those white walls…red. Just…red.”

“…Who?”

“I don’t know. A him; at least I think it was a him. He saw me; watching. And then he…he _smiled._ Why did he _smile?”_

Darcy collapsed on her only remaining available side. “Dead men tell no tales, Janey. He knew there’d be someone left to scream bloody mur…oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s…it’s fine.”

Erik gave her a look. “Is it?”

Her “No” sounded very small.

A sigh. “You went down there, didn’t you. After he left.”

He gestured. “Hence the blood.”

Another nod.

“Janey, Janey, Janey…” Darcy leaned her head on Jane’s shoulder. “One of these days…”

“I know, Darcy. I know.”

For a very long time, there was silence.

“So.” Erik moved first. “What’s this then?”

He gently tapped the hammer with his foot.

“It’s what he was…Thor, what he…”

Erik finished the sentence. “What he went in there for. Why? What’s so special about it?”

Jane reached over and picked it up. “I don’t know; all Thor said was…”

She trailed off when she realized both of her friends were no longer sitting next to her. “Guys? What’s wrong?”

They were staring. Why were they staring?

“Jane…” Erik was spluttering. “The…you…”

Darcy managed to be somewhat more eloquent. Well, for Darcy. “Dude. Do you have _any_ idea what you look like?”

She frowned. “I’m perfectly aware I’m a mess, Darcy, I don’t see why…”

“Not that, you moron…look!”

A hand-mirror was shoved violently in her face.

“Darcy, I don’t know what…”

The mud. The mud was gone. The blood too.

Her hair…her hair was partially-braided around to the back. When had that happened?

The mirror panned downwards to reveal the rest of her disaster, and then moved backwards to put everything into view at…once.

Armor.

She was wearing armor.

And a cape!

Red, flowing, thick…

Thor’s.

It had to be.

Which meant that the hammer…

Tears rolled down her face. “He said that I’d see. I guess I did…”

Her friends caught her just before the hammer hit the ground.

* * *

Apparently, judging by the conversation he’d just overheard, he’d been wrong.

The Warriors Three would _indeed_ go against the All-Mother.

If Sif was the one instigating the action.

Well, it was a bit late now. Time to show them.

Time to show them all.

 _Seidhr_ slammed into the doors, ripping them completely off their hinges. Fandral at least had the grace to look ashamed; Volstagg, penitent. Hogun was as unreadable as ever. But Sif…

Sif was defiant.

But not for long. Not once she saw what he carried; once she realized why he himself had been unable to open the door with his hands.

The catch of breath; the widening eyes.

They knew.

“It occurs to me…” he began. “that the height of irony is, in fact, happening upon my comrades in attempted treason, when I myself have just committed it. For the same reason, in fact. And apparently…”

Thor’s body slid from his hands; the table just barely large enough to catch him.

“…All of us too late.”

He stabbed the arrow that had done the deed into the wood. So what if he hadn’t found it with the body; ‘evidence lockers’ were such useful things.

They gathered round; like locusts on wheat. Sif looked up at him, fire in her eyes, and spat. “ _How?”_

“Need you ask? Odin cast him out; made him mortal. And he, in his arrogance, forgot that Midgardians can be just as deadly as we.”

“ _I shall avenge him.”_ She hissed.

“Yes you shall. I began the task, as you can see,” he gestured to his blood-soaked clothes, “but I shall leave to you to finish them. Those that did it have many enemies of their own. They are an empire in their own right; but empires can be toppled. And ones that crumble from within?”

He grinned. “Those are dead for good.”

Sif and the Warriors Three shared a look, and then faced him as one. “Where do we start?”

* * *

It had been a stroke of luck that the first SHIELD Agent he’d taken had been one Jasper Sitwell; one of HYDRA’s best. His mind had been weak, but full of information. Enough for a plan of attack that would decimate not only the Midgardians that had dared touch a god, but those who had in fact started this whole debacle: the Jotunns.

Heimdall regarded him with implacability. “Jotuunheim? You truly wish to return there?”

“It must be done, I’m afraid. I have no doubt that what I am about to do would be considered treason by many; yourself included. But I will not see war come to Asgard. Not when…”

Heimdall nodded. “A wise decision. But why inform me?”

“It is the duty of the Keeper of the Bifrost to inform the All-Father of any treasonous actions; or, in his absence, the All-Mother. And the Keeper sees all. However, should the gaze of the Keeper become clouded for any reason, then the Keeper can hardly be blamed for anything that might occur under said cloud.”

“Plausible deniability.” Heimdall’s brow furrowed. “That is what I believe the Midgardians call it. You would offer this?”

“It is the duty of a ruler to put his people before himself.” It was a duty that became far easier once one learned they were, in fact, a Frost Giant. And as such worthy of being put before not even the lowest street-crawler.

Heimdall harrumphed. “I see your silver tongue has returned. I thank you for your offer, my liege; but I will not allow my ruler to carry any burden alone.”

Loki nodded in acknowledgement. “As you wish. The Bifrost, if you please.”

A twist of a sword, and the swirling rainbow twisted and lengthened, until at last the bridge stood before him in all of its glory.

As he was about to step through, a single question came from the man behind. “Where is Mjolnir?”

“…I left her.”

“On Midgard.”

“Yes; as a reminder. A reminder…and a warning.”

“For whom?”

“…For everyone.”

He stepped through.

* * *

“It was _I_ who let your people through; it was _I_ who concealed them!”

Lies. All lies. As much as he hated Thor, he would never have dared shame Frigga in such a way.

Laufey, fortunately, seemed to believe them anyway. “I will hear what you have to say.”

“I’m sure you have heard of Thor’s banishment; and I am equally certain that even that will not be enough to quench your desire for vengeance upon him and, indeed, Asgard.”

Laufey gave a half-smile. “You would be correct on both counts.”

“Then it will please you to know that Thor is not, in fact, merely banished, but dead.”

 _That_ certainly got his attention. “How did it happen?”

“An unfortunate accident, shortly after his… _arrival_ on Midgard.”

Laufey hummed in approval. “Indeed.”

Good; the fool had obviously inferred that Thor’s death hadn’t been so accidental after all. “A tragedy, I’m afraid. In recognition of the fact that your justice has thus been denied you, might I offer you this…”

The Casket of Ancient Winters glistened with blue light. “…As recompense.”

Laufey leveled a stare in his direction. “Under what conditions, Prince of Asgard? I am no fool; I know there must be some.”

“There is but one, oh king: that you confine your… _conquests,_ to Midgard. Oh, and should you come across those responsible for the death of the Crown Prince, I do hope that you treat them with all the due… _respect_ owed them.”

“Hmm…destroy them, you mean. No loose ends. Tell me, oh prince,” Laufey leaned forward, “just who _are_ those responsible?”

“I believe, my friend, that they call themselves…SHIELD.”

* * *

Nick Fury didn’t get to be the Director of an organization like SHIELD by shooting first and asking questions later. Which was why he didn’t immediately fill the shadow sitting in _his_ chair full of holes. “And just who, may I ask, do I have the honor of addressing?”

The shadow chuckled and leaned forward. “Honor? I must confess, that’s the first I’ve heard that word attached to myself in some time.”

A pair of golden horns emerged from the darkness, accompanied swiftly by an arrogant and cruel face beneath. “Loki Odinson, I am called.”

“Loki.” His eyepatch was itching. “You mean, like the Norse deity.”

“Not like, Director. I _am._ The one, the only, the original. Prince of Asgard, and God of Chaos and Mischief. And I am here, because someone in your employ thought it wise to meddle in not just my affairs, but those of Asgard as a whole.”

It didn’t take long for the pieces to click into place. “New Mexico. That wasn’t a satellite.”

“No; no I’m afraid it wasn’t. It was the property of my late brother, Prince Thor. God of Lightning and Thunder…and heir to the Asgardian Throne. And your men killed him while attempting to retrieve what was rightfully his.”

Shit. “…Well that certainly explains the lack of survivors. And the missing research. Would it be too much to hope that Asgardian justice stops there?”

“Oh, you misunderstand me Director: those men weren’t killed because they just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were killed because, by their own definition, they were in the _right_ place at the _right_ time.”

“Hmm. Gonna explain that?”

Loki shifted in his seat. “Tell me Director…what do you know of HYDRA?”

A sliver of ice settled in his chest. “The group this organization was founded to fight. They believed that all humanity should be ruled by one system, one man. And that any means were acceptable in their pursuit of such a goal.”

“Succinctly put. However, you _and_ the rest of the world have overlooked two specific words in the last part of that definition: _any_ means. Including infiltration. You have a weed growing in your garden, Director. And it has seven heads.”

“You sure of that?”

“Quite sure. If I did not have good reason to suspect HYDRA were indeed the ones to order my brother’s death…then you and I would not be having this conversation. Agents Barton and Coulson are the only blood Asgard is officially allowed to call for; unofficially, however…”

Something long and sharp appeared in front of his throat. “ _Good evening, Director…”_

Loki frowned. “Sif; play nice with the good Director. He’s going to be your main contact here on Midgard, after all.”

Oh, this day just kept getting better and better. “An Asgardian operative?”

Loki nodded. “One with a …personal stake in HYDRA’s destruction. She will work as closely with you as you let her; but do not, under any circumstances, delude yourself into thinking you can control her. She is here for one purpose, and one purpose only. And it is she who will decide what form Coulson’s and Barton’s punishment shall take. Are we clear, Director?”

“…Inescapably.”

“Excellent. Sif, should you require assistance, I shall have the Warriors Three stand ready. And, if need be, the Destroyer.”

A threat, then. If anything were to happen to another Asgardian…well, he didn’t much like the sound of ‘the Destroyer’, whatever it was.

_“I thank you, my liege. But I believe I can handle it.”_

“As you wish.”

Loki faded back into the shadows…and then disappeared entirely.

The knife to his jugular abruptly vanished. “One of these days, I’m going to find out how he does that. Lady Sif, at your service, Director.”

He swallowed. “Considering we’re going to be equals for the duration of your stay on Earth…perhaps it would be best if you called me Fury.”

“As you wish.”

* * *

Alexander Pearce had been much easier to deal with than Director Fury. All he had to do was feed HYDRA’s party line back to him, and then make the point that a Midgard under the rule of one organization would make Odin very nervous indeed. And that Loki very much enjoyed making Odin nervous.

He name-dropped the Frost Giants as well, and added that if any were to show up, they would have their own reasons for fighting SHIELD.

And with that, the stage was set. Sif and SHIELD versus HYDRA and the Frost Giants, with all of Midgard caught in the middle. And in the end, they would all _burn._

He could only hope they all killed each other off before Odin awoke. If he ever woke at all. Odin had made his last mistake, and Loki would be damned before he let the old fool meddle again. One way…or another.

As he watched the ship carrying his brother’s remains dissolve into starlight, a single stray remembrance slipped through his mind. That of a delicate but fiery face, expression twisted in both horror…and curiosity. Director Fury had been wrong on two counts: there had, indeed, been a survivor. And it was on her account that the research stolen from her residence had been…taken.

He knew not why, but the Norns’ influence had been obvious. For one woman, no matter how lucky, to not only witness Thor’s arrival, but to be intelligent enough to recognize it for the advanced science that it was…spoke quite eloquently to higher influence. That SHIELD had stolen from her as much as they had stolen from him was another point in that regard. The universe was rarely so lazy as to stoop to mere coincidence.

Dr. Jane Foster’s fate was somehow tied to Asgard’s, and to their interactions with Midgard in particular. He would be extremely busy for the foreseeable future, but should Sif’s efforts require a more personal touch…perhaps he would spare a moment to drop in on the good doctor.

He found the idea to be a remarkably pleasant one.

* * *

The ride back to the…well, what _used_ to be the lab was tense in the extreme.

Mostly because they’d realized quite quickly that Jane was the only one who could actually pick up the hammer. Getting it into the van was easy; getting it _out_ without anyone remarking on her sudden wardrobe change was a different matter entirely.

In the end, they managed it by using Darcy as the lookout, and Erik to yank the door open and cover for Jane when Darcy said the coast was clear. Which was why the hammer landed solidly on Erik’s foot once Jane realized exactly what was sitting in her lab that hadn’t been before:

Namely, her research.

Stacks upon stacks of material: charts, computers, readouts, screens…none of it correctly organized, but all arranged in such a way that suggested whoever had done it had tried their best.

And on the blackboard in the center of the room, a single message, written in clear, flowing script:

_I found the meaning of the name Puente Antiguo to be quite humorous. And fitting. Perhaps you shall as well. I would suggest a change of scenery, before the snakes return. - Possibly An Ally…Possibly More._

_P. S. Norway is particularly fine this time of year._


End file.
